


Wheels Keep Turning

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Series: What happens on the road stays on the road [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam so used to being felt up by his bandmates, and so used to  keeping a lid on what he feels about them, that he doesn't realise Harry might be looking for a reaction of a different kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wheels Keep Turning

It’s early morning, an overnight haul from one city to the next in the middle of tour. Liam dunks his tea bag in his mug, leans forward to check out the view from the little window over the sink in the kitchenette. In the pale pink light, sun struggling over the horizon, he can see power lines, flat fields of cornfields, dotted with farm houses that look straight out of the movies. There’s a never-ending stretch of straight road ahead and behind them, and a few more hours before they’ll hit their next city in the Midwest. The bus is quiet – when he’d slipped out of his bed 15 minutes ago there hadn’t even been a snore from the other boys’ bunks. Liam hitches the sagging waistband of his sweats, takes another sip of tea, and thinks about heading to the lounge to do some crunches. 

“Morning,” he hears from behind him in a sleepy, rough voice. 

Liam starts. He’d counted on all the guys sleeping through to mid-morning. But he turns and smiles at Harry, all sleep-tousled hair and half-lidded eyes this time of day. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, a jangle of necklaces. Liam’s careful to keep his eyes on Harry’s face.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asks instead, pushing all thoughts out of his head except for solicitousness. 

Harry just grunts and shuffles over to the where the bar fridge is tucked under a bank of drawers and shelves. He bends down to check out its contents, and Liam can’t help but drop his eyes to the swell of Harry’s arse, barely covered by the flimsy material of his briefs. He blinks and looks away quickly – something he’s gotten real good at, not looking at what he wants, when he wants it – though it was easier when he was with Dani, easier to keep his thoughts from straying into places it shouldn’t.

Liam turns back to his tea, now cooling on the top of the counter top, still staring at his mug, at the steam dissipating from its rim, when Harry crowds up behind him and grabs his dick through the worn material of his sweats. Liam doesn’t flinch at the touch, so used to being felt up by his bandmates now, a hand on his bat and balls on stage, in the car between interviews, on the bus to the venue, right before the camera swings around to them on live TV. 

Louis and Harry started it to make him blush and falter, loved it for the reaction, but after two years (two years! Sometimes Liam still can’t quite believe how quickly the time has flown) he’s learnt to keep his face impassive or shrug it off with a quick laugh. Louis takes this development in stride, tells Liam he’s _so proud of him, grasshopper_ and let him in on his pranks on the others. But Harry – sometimes Liam catches him looking back like Liam’s a particular challenge that he’s not yet defeated, something to take apart and figure out, and he won’t stop with the dick punches and tickling bouts until he’s done it. 

So, being grabbed in the kitchenette on the bus before he’s even finished his first cup of tea is nothing out of the ordinary. But the thing is, Liam’s not had a shower this morning, which means he’s not jerked off for over a day now, which means he’s still semi-hard from morning wood and Harry half-naked him and touching him like that is not helping things, not when it’s waking up ideas in his head that’s worked hard to lull. 

“Get off,” Liam says as calmly as he can. He picks up his mug and takes another sip, hands wrapped tight around its sides. 

“Make me,” Harry purrs, mouth right up by Liam’s left ear. He shuffles further forward so he’s pressed up against Liam’s back, with what feels like a million points of contact of heat and skin. Liam swallows hard, and concentrates of the warmth of the tea sliding down his throat, to take his focus from the tease of Harry’s hips nudging at him. 

“No,” Liam says firmly. “It’s too early and I want to finish my tea.” He knows he’s sounding all boring and serious again, but there'll be plenty of time later for playing along, for rough-housing with the guys; when Louis is up, when they get to the venue, when boredom sets in and they’re all itching to get on stage, under the lights. This early in the morning, it’s Liam’s time for peace and quiet and sanity and tea.

Harry just hums, a non-committal sound, and then he’s moving his hand, gripping Liam tighter through his trousers. It’s not just a friendly grab now; he’s got his hand curled loosely around the outline of Liam’s cock, slowly moving his hand back and forth along its length. 

“No?” he asks softly.

“No,” Liam says again. “Come on Harry, you’ve had your fun.” He pushes back lightly against Harry with both hands on the edge of the counter top. Harry’s shot up over past few months, and he’s almost as tall as Liam now, but he’s still slighter and Liam knows he could throw him off if he really wanted to, could really put his weight into it. But he means to be playful, to tease back and get Harry to let up of his own accord.

At first just Harry moves his other hand to Liam’s hip and grips him tightly, but then he lets go of Liam’s dick, so Liam counts that as a win. He smiles and turns his face towards Harry, just as he feels Harry slip his hand into his sweats, under the waistband of his pants.

“Yes?” Harry asks again. He nudges Liam with his hips, and Liam realises Harry is hard too. Then Harry closes the gap between them and kisses Liam, and Liam’s still trying to process what this all means, that he’s being allowed to touch let alone look, that he opens his mouth under Harry’s and lets it happen. Harry tastes likes toothpaste and the combination of the peppery mint and his tea makes Liam recoil a little, but Harry keeps his hold on Liam, the hand on his hip shifting so he has one arm low around Liam’s waist, the other hand now working him, wrapped around the shaft, the rough slide of his fingers a little painful, but in a good way. 

Liam’s rock hard now, and Harry is still kissing him, open mouthed and a little messy, and they’re still standing in the kitchenette, an open shared space. Anyone in the band could wake up and catch them, and then all of Liam’s dirty desires would be bared for them to see, and Liam knows this means they should stop, he should pull away from Harry and pretend this never happened. 

But then Harry brushes his thumb across the head of his cock and twists his hand just so and Liam’s knees get weak and buckle. He’s only held up by Harry pressing him even harder into the counter top, whispering, “I guess that’s a yes then?” as he does. He chuckles low in Liam’s ear, his mouth moving to latch onto that spot on his neck right behind his ear, the one that makes Liam’s brain short out. It’s a dirty move – all the guys know it’s his weakness, something he’d confessed to during one boozy night last tour. 

“Yes,” Liam says, sighing, giving in to what he wants, what he’s being offered. He lets himself fall back against Harry, feeling Harry grinding against him, only to be disappointed a moment later when Harry removes his hand. Liam makes a frustrated noise and closes his eyes, breathing hard. If this has all been some fucking awful joke, some point Harry’s trying to make – he composes his face and half turns, only to open his eyes to catch Harry in the middle of licking his own pal from wrist to fingertips, tongue lathing at his skin to get it wet. Liam watches, transfixed, and forgets to be angry, to be worried. Harry grins at him, eyes hooded, and makes even more of a show of it, tongue flicking between his fingers, sucking two in to his pink, swollen lips to make Liam whimper. 

“Turn around again,” Harry instructs. Liam snaps back to position, hands braced against the counter top, as Harry wraps his hand around Liam’s cock again, stroking him intently, motion now slick with spit. 

“You’re so hot for it,” Harry says softly by his ear. “ Doesn't take much to work you up like this, does it? But I guess that’s not surprising when you’ve been keeping it in for so long.”

Liam bites his bottom lip, not trusting himself to answer. Harry works him harder, rougher, the hitch in Liam’s breath telling him all he needs to know. “Yeah, I know you’ve been thinking about it,” Harry continues, voice even, conversational. “Hear you at night in the bunks sometimes, those little noises you make, wandering if you’re thinking about me,” and Liam can’t help but gasp at this, bucking his hips as something sharp and painful and pleasurable shoots through him, shame and relief at being found out. 

“Or maybe it’s not me,” Harry’s voice is getting a bit ragged now, and Liam can feel him rutting up against the cleft of his arse, “Maybe you’re thinking of Zayn, or Niall, or Louis. So what do you think, hmm, if I kept you like this, on the edge, until one of them woke up and wandered in here and saw you like this, with my mouth and hands all over your skin? Do you think you’d like that, Liam, if they could all see you now?”

And then Harry finally shuts up, mouth latching onto that spot behind his ear again, a small brief moment of silence before the impact of the scenario he’s drawn for Liam hits, the panic and the desire in his gut rising up together until he’s barely able to keep himself from moaning out loud as he comes, hot and sticky over Harry’s hand. 

Harry keeps his hand there, dropping feather light kisses on the back of Liam’s neck as he breathes deep with his head dropped, trying to get his racing heart back to normal. When Harry finally moves away, he runs his hand under the tap, and fills a glass while he’s at it. He leans up against the sink, drinking from the glass and watching Liam with a gentle smile, eyes crinkled up at the corners. 

“Your tea must be cold by now,” he says. “Want me to make you another one?”

Liam blinks. His eyes drop down, a quick glance that confirms that Harry’s still hard. “Do you want me to – um, do you – I – I can maybe, first?” 

Harry’s smile grows wider, a little more predatory. “Why, I thought you’d never ask,” he says, stepping forward back into Liam’s space. He crowds him up against the bench again, but this time Liam lets himself look, at the mischief in Harry’s eyes, at the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Tell me what you want,” Harry says, encouragingly. “Tell me what you’ll take care of for me.”

“Is Liam making breakfast?” Zayn says, coming through the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “Is that what’s he taking care of?”

Liam jumps, but Harry stills him with a hand on his hip, thumb rubbing slow circles into his skin. 

“Maybe, if you’re nice to him,” Harry says, “I’m off to take a quick shower. Got something else I’ve got to take care first.” He winks at Liam, then leans up and whispers quickly, “I’ll take a raincheck.” 

He makes a point of brushing up real close against Zayn at the door. 

“Ugh, don’t use all the hot water if you’re just going to rub one out,” Zayn says easily, but he gives Liam a speculative look. 

Liam just blushes and busies himself with searching in the cupboards for a pan and a spatula to make breakfast, and doesn’t think too much about Harry wet and soapy in the shower, and what he’s gotten himself into. The eggs and toast end up burnt anyway.


End file.
